


The Doria Chronicles

by Bodhicitta



Category: British Royal Family, British Royals, Royal Family - Fandom
Genre: British Royal Family - Freeform, British Royals - Freeform, F/F, F/M, RPF
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 02:54:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16589471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bodhicitta/pseuds/Bodhicitta
Summary: In which a quiet, dignified woman’s daughter upends her life in a completely unexpected way.With apologies in advance for the post-publication editing.  It is my way.My first fic outside of the BBC’s “Sherlock” universe!Not Brit-picked.  Feel free to help with that!





	The Doria Chronicles

“Mommy. He asked him to marry him!”

Ordinarily when your daughter announces that her beau has asked her to marry him, ordinarily you get excited. Blissful. Thrilled.

But this is not ordinary. None of this is ordinary.

Doria girded herself. Gathered up every ounce of her strength and moderation and calm. She knew this was a defining moment in her motherhood journey. She had to say the right thing, and most importantly, she had to say it in the right way.

“Oh, I’m so excited for you!” She was so gratified that M. had called her over the phone with this news so she wouldn’t have to twist her face into a false expression of joy.

But her daughter knew her better than her own hand.

“Mom.” Silence.  A silence fraught with meaning, and if she didn’t answer soon - disapproval.  “Is that all you can say?”

“What? I said I’m excited for you!”

“‘Why do you sound like that, why do you sound so...so fake?”

 “I’m tired. Do you know what time it is here?”  Good.  That was good. A legitimate reason to sound deflated, worn-out. The time zones.

“Oh, right, sorry, Mom - should I call back?”

“No, no, of course not. Let me just get up and....talk to me...tell me everything. I’m making coffee....I’m up, I’m up. Talk, talk! How did he do it? What did he say, exactly”

And M prattled on about the chicken dinner and how he dropped to one knee like an adorable idiot....A prince - an actual prince.

Every mother wants her daughter to marry a prince. Prince Charming. And he certainly was charming. But for some reason - well, for many reasons, her heart sank, because the stark reality of it hit her.

A public life.  No....the MOST public life.

Her child would never be able to walk through a meadow alone and feel sunlight on her face without paparazzi photographing her.

She could never lie on a quiet beach and listen to the ocean lapping the shore....not without bodyguards.  Never.  Never again in her entire life.

She would never be able to make a misstep.

  
She would have to mold her opinions and suppress her free spirit.

  
And if she failed to comply...?

And her grandchildren....she started to sob quietly.  

Maybe all mothers reacted this way. What if everything goes wrong (like it did the last time, with the first marriage....like it did with me.....)

What if he breaks her heart, her precious heart that I grew with my own body, the heart that lived inside of me for almost a  year, the heart that lived in my soul since I was a little girl...all those days and nights dreaming of my little girl to be....

What if they don’t accept her?  My baby, my beautiful, fierce, disciplined, stunning little girl. She’s so beautiful, more beautiful than I ever could have dreamt for, so beautiful her beauty is a curse.  What if they only see how pretty she is and ignore her mind, her thoughts, her feelings....

What if they turn her into an object, decoration, an ornament to be trotted out and used, like a puppet, and then put away, told to shut and and keep silent....

What if they shoot at her, the crazy people...the disgruntled...the people with nothing to live for, people who hate beauty, people who will hate her happiness.....

People who will hate her blackness.  

Hold tight, Doria.  It’s not about you, now....it’s never about you.  It’s never been about you.  You are a mother. ‘Til your last breath...and beyond.  She is your child.  Defend her.

As M alternately whispered and laughed out loud with glee about all the ins and outs of how Harry let his father know, and how we will find out if the Queen will approve, Doria clutched her belly with her hand.  

When she hung up the phone, she crumpled to the ground, slowly, and found herself in a ball, folded over her legs, her forehead in her hands, her feet tucked under her. Trying to keep it all close, and safe inside, trying to hang onto the alone.  

_Child’s Pose._


End file.
